Second Best
by Stoneheart1
Summary: Whether at the Burrow or at Hogwarts, Ron has never been the best at anything. Between his brothers and Harry, will he EVER be anything but -- second best? (Continued from the storyline of Confessions). H/Hr, R/?
1. The Face in the Mirror

**Author's Note:** After all the gut-wrenching angst running rampant in No Greater Love, I thought it was time for a little old-fashioned ROMANTIC angst.  
  
The decision to post this story (and the one to follow) comes as a result of the much-delayed release date announced for Order of the Phoenix. Both of these stories are Fifth Year fics, and I realized that OotP will effectively render all such fics obsolete. AU's and re-writes will flourish, but it will be difficult to "envision" Fifth Year AFTER it has been presented in all its glory in the REAL HP universe. So, although I have other stories that have been sitting on the shelf for a year or more, the deck has been shuffled so I can "burn off" these two adventures before J.K. "muddies" the "Fifth Year waters" for evermore.. But they will at least APPEAR viable if read BEFORE the bombshell which is Order of the Phoenix has impacted upon the Ground Zero of our imaginations.  
  
This first story is a continuation of Confessions. I realized that my re-invented Ron gave up an awful lot in that story. He deserves a little something in return, don't you think? I'm sure J.K. will NEVER give him the treatment he will receive HERE. But that's the beauty of it, isn't it? And it's ALSO why this story has got to see the light of day NOW.  
  
And although this IS a "Ron story," there will be a healthy dose of Harry/Hermione fluff for all of their loyal shippers (of which I am unashamedly one).  
  
By the way, you HAVE all read Confessions, right? This story will make a LOT more sense if you've read that one first. If you haven't, go do that now. I'll wait.  
  
And for those of you who are already up to speed, feel free to scroll down now. But for Merlin's sake, hurry! Bloomsbury and Scholastic are inking the presses even as I speak!  
  
**Disclaimer:** Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and trappings herein belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not employing them for profit, merely entertainment (with final judgment on THAT to be determined by the readers).   
  


***

  
"HEADS UP, RON!" George shouted from somewhere below and to Ron's right.  
  
"Wh -- " Ron began before his eyes nearly jumped out of his head. "AHHHHH!"  
  
Jerking frantically on the handle of his broomstick, Ron was only just able to avoid the Bludger hit directly at him by George. The cannon-like shot missed him so closely that the friction of its passing singed his left ear like a belch of dragon fire.  
  
"That should've been 'head down', actually," Fred observed as he glided down to meet his twin, both of whom were now shouldering their Beater's clubs. "NICE DODGE, RON!" he shouted as Ron swung around and charged his brothers with fire in his eyes.  
  
"THAT BLUDGER NEARLY TOOK MY HEAD OFF!" Ron shouted, his face nearly as red as his flaming hair.  
  
"But it didn't, did it?" George grinned, nodding at Fred for support. "Your reflexes are really improving, Ron."  
  
"Yeah," Fred agreed. "That shot would have put you in hospital only a month ago."  
  
"I'm going to put _you_ in hospital if you ever do that again!" Ron spat.  
  
The twins were not in the least perturbed by this threat.  
  
"When you find yourself in a _real_ game," George said, "with the other team's Beaters _really_ trying to knock your head off, you'll thank us. Right, Fred?" He looked to Fred, who nodded emphatically.  
  
"Like _I'll_ ever get in a real game," Ron grunted. "Being reserve Seeker behind Harry is like being a third wing on a hippogriff."  
  
"So try out for another position," Fred said, not for the first time. "The team will need two new Beaters next year when George and I graduate."   
  
"I don't _want_ to be a Beater," Ron said, again not for the first time.  
  
"Then go out for Chaser," George said. "Katie will be leaving, too."  
  
"Maybe," Ron said without enthusiasm.  
  
It was common knowledge that Ron had wanted to be the new Gryffindor Keeper following the departure of Oliver Wood. But the reserve Keeper had been promoted to starter, and in the ensuing tryouts for the reserve position, Ron had come in second to a Third Year -- and a girl at that!  
  
That left only one position to be filled: Reserve Seeker. In truth, it was an open position because, ever since Harry had been named Seeker, it was deemed a completely useless position. Granted that Gryffindor had lost the Quidditch cup at the end of Harry's first year when he landed in hospital (nearly dying in his first encounter with Lord Voldemort), there being no back-up to play in his stead, that was considered a fluke not likely to be repeated. Nearly everyone dismissed the very notion that any team that boasted Harry Potter as Seeker would ever have need of a reserve.  
  
Thus it was that Ron, wanting desperately to be on the team in any capacity, had grudgingly accepted the position. But he did not delude himself. Like everyone else, he believed that so long as Harry was Gryffindor's Seeker, he, Ron, would never be more than a useless joke. Unneeded and serving no purpose. Second best.   


*

  
When Ron climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, he found Harry and Hermione sitting side-by-side on the hearth in front of the massive stone fireplace, both of them staring blankly into the low-burning flames. Hermione's head lay on Harry's shoulder as she nestled against him, held securely by his arm encircling her waist. They appeared to be completely lost in both the fire and each other. Ron stopped dead, remembering a time not so long ago when it had been _himself_ and Hermione sitting exactly like that. Taking a moment to padlock his heart and tuck away the key, he painted what he hoped was a convincing smile on his face and walked toward the fireplace.  
  
"Public display of affection!" Ron said bitingly in his best impression of Percy the Prefect. "Five points from Gryffindor!"  
  
Harry and Hermione snapped out of their mutual trance and turned to find Ron grinning down on them from his not inconsiderable height, made all the more impressive by their seated positions. The smile Harry flashed up at Ron was bright with amusement, but Hermione's smile seemed strained somehow, leaving Ron with the impression that she was concealing some emotional tempest behind the thinnest of veneers. Others might be fooled, but not Ron. He knew more than a bit about cheery facades, having become a past master of them himself in recent months.  
  
"Good practice, Ron?" Harry said hopefully.  
  
"Great," Ron said brightly. "Better watch your backside, mate. Gryffindor might be gettin' a new Seeker any day now."  
  
"Sooner than you think, mate," Harry said, his smile retreating a fraction. Hermione's, by contrast, intensified, though the result was that it appeared even less convincing than before.  
  
It took at least half a minute for the full impact of Harry's words to penetrate Ron's brain. No, he must have misheard.  
  
Harry rose from his seated position in a single fluid motion, demonstrating the grace which made him the outstanding Seeker he was. He helped Hermione to her feet, and their eyes met with a sort of restrained intensity. Smiling gently as if to say, "It'll be alright," Harry bent and kissed Hermione lightly on the lips. With their faces only an inch apart, Hermione nodded once and, smiling wordlessly at Ron, glided away toward the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories.  
  
"Let's go upstairs," Harry said, nodding toward the boys' staircase. "I have something to tell you."  
  


*

  
In their Fifth Year dormitory, Harry sat on his bed while Ron, too anxious to sit, paced back and forth between Harry's bed and his own. His legs being so long, this required barely two strides each way.   
  
"Dumbledore's mental!" Ron repeated, as if stating this twice before in the preceding five minutes had not been sufficient condemnation. "He can't expect you to go off and fight You-Know-Who! You barely escaped the _last_ time! Blimey, Harry, every time you reach across the dining table for a pitcher of pumpkin juice or something, and I see that ruddy scar on your arm, it gives me a right chill to think how close you came to snuffing it last year. And now they expect you to -- "   
  
"I am _not_ going off to fight Voldemort," Harry said, repeating himself even as Ron. As ever, Ron jumped at the sound of Voldemort's name, reacting as if he had just discovered an enormous spider crawling up his arm. "It's a reconnaissance mission, nothing more."  
  
"But why _you_?" Ron persisted. "Are they running short of Aurors that they have to nick Fifth Year students out of school and chuck them onto the front lines?"  
  
"There _are_ no 'front lines'," Harry said. "That's what this is about, in fact. And _no_ Auror can do this job. Only _I_ can."  
  
"Really?" Ron said skeptically. "Just what've _you_ got that Mad-Eye and his lot _don't_?"  
  
"You said it," Harry smiled. "My scar. Not _this_ one -- " he pointed to the scar on his arm to which Ron had just made reference, from which wound Wormtail had drawn the blood which had helped bring Voldemort back to full strength last year, " -- but _this_ one." Harry was now pointing at the famous lightning scar on his forehead, and he could not help but chuckle as Ron's eyes fell for the first time on this famous souvenir of Harry's first meeting with Voldemort. While strangers still tended to goggle at Harry's scar when they saw him, his long-time friends, such as Ron and Hermione, had come to pay it no more heed than they did his glasses or his messy hair.  
  
"What's your scar got to do with anything?" Ron said shortly. Then his eyes widened. Seeing the understanding on Ron's face, Harry nodded.   
  
"You know my scar always hurts when Voldemort is nearby. But there's more to it than that. You see, we realized that it's not just Voldemort. It also applies, though in a more limited way, to _any_ Death Eater."  
  
It was a mark of Ron's distraction that repeated mention of Voldemort in the past minute elicited no reaction from him whatsoever. "What are you on about?" he said.  
  
"You remember our first day at school?" Harry said. "When we came into the Great Hall and saw Snape for the first time? The moment he looked at me, my scar hurt -- first time ever."  
  
Ron's expression sharpened. "That wasn't Snape," he said impatiently. "Don't you remember? Snape was sitting next to Quirrell, who had You-Know-Who lurkin' under his ruddy turban. _That_ was what you felt."  
  
"That's what we _all_ thought at first," Harry said. "But Dumbledore said my scar hurts not _only_ when Voldemort is _near_, but when he's feeling, in Dumbledore's words, 'particularly murderous' toward me. And that first night in the Great Hall, that look Snape gave me was _ pure murder_. And that, coupled with the Dark Mark we _now_ know is on his arm, sent that jolt of pain to my scar."  
  
"Then why doesn't your scar hurt every moment we're in Potions class?" Ron said triumphantly. "If anything, Snape hates you way more now than he ever did then."  
"Because," Harry said, "with anyone _other_ than Voldemort, it only works _once_. Kind of like a flashbulb -- or a bomb. After that first time, I become -- immune, I guess. Sort of like having measles. At least, that's what Dumbledore and Moody reckon."  
  
"What?" Ron said, appalled. "You mean they don't _know_?"  
  
"No," Harry admitted. "But we're going to test it out, starting next weekend."  
  
"Test it how?" Ron said, his eyes narrowing.  
  
"The Aurors have certain areas staked out," Harry said. "Neighborhoods and small villages where they think Death Eaters might be hiding. Trouble is, they're likely protected by Fidelius Charms. Just like it was with my parents in Godric's Hollow, the Aurors could be looking right in through the front window of a Death Eater's house and not see a thing.  
  
"But the Fidelius only fools the five _normal_ senses. My scar is like a _sixth_ sense. In theory, these Death Eaters will all be plotting to do Voldemort's will -- which, after last year, is most likely centered on capturing or killing _me_."  
  
Harry said this very calmly, but Ron saw a flicker in his friend's emerald eyes that revealed a very real and terrible fear which Harry was striving valiantly to suppress.  
  
"So," Ron said, his arguments exhausted, "how you figure to work it?"  
  
"Very simply," Harry said. "I'm just going to walk down the street."  
  
"Eh?" Ron said. Harry smiled.  
  
"Village by village, neighborhood by neighborhood, street by street," Harry said, "I'll just walk by each house in a target area. That's all, just walk by. And when I pass by a house with one or more Death Eaters in it -- all of whom will likely be thinking 'murderous thoughts' about _me_ -- my scar should go off like an alarm clock. A very _painful_ one," he added with a crooked smile. "With no snooze alarm."  
  
"No _what_?" said Ron, who was familiar only with the wind-up variety of clock common to wizard houses.   
  
"Never mind," Harry laughed. "So, it's really too simple to miss, isn't it? If any Death Eaters look out their window, they won't see anythng suspicious, like Aurors or anything like that. All they'll see is a Muggle boy and his dog going for a walk."  
  
"DOG?" Ron exclaimed with sudden animation.   
  
"Oh," Harry grinned with an innocence overlying deep amusement, "did I forget to mention that part?"  
  
"Blimey," Ron said, sinking onto his bed at last as a feeling of great relief washed over him. "That's a dragon of a different color, innit? If Snuffles is with you, I don't reckon anything can go too far wrong."  
  
"Tell that to Hermione," Harry said, his smile fading. "She seems to think that Voldemort himself is going to jump out of one of those houses and hit me with the Killing Curse."  
  
Wincing once more at the sound of Voldemort's name, Ron said, "Can't blame her there, mate. It took her four years to get her hooks into you. Be a right joke if You-Know-Who mucked it up _now_, wouldn't it?"  
  
"I'll be in disguise," Harry said in his own defense. "I'm not a _total_ berk, y'know. Muggles may not know me, but Death Eaters are another matter. I wouldn't put it past Voldemort to have distributed photos of me to every corner of Britain, like wanted posters in the Muggle Western cinema."   
  
"What sort of disguise?" Ron asked quickly before Harry's repeated mention of Voldemort could erode his nerves again. "Polyjuice? Want a few hairs? I've got loads. Thank goodness Hermione told me the baldness gene skips a generation. Ever tell you 'bout my granddad? Bill takes after him. Had hair longer than Dumbledore's."  
  
"Just an ordinary disguise," Harry said, recognizing Ron's chatter as a defensive mechanism. "Polyjuice would remove my scar, and without that I'd be about as useful as a tailless broomstick. Besides," and he made a disgusted face, "once was enough for me."  
  
"Too right," Ron laughed. "Can you imagine Crouch drinkin' that stuff every hour, on the hour, for ten bleedin' months! Talk about _mental_!"  
  
"Well," Harry said, getting down to cases, "on the subject of broomsticks -- " Ron lifted an eyebrow at mention of one of his favorite subjects, " -- the upshoot of all this is, I'll be away from school every Saturday for the foreseeable future. Which means -- "  
  
"SATURDAY?" Ron exploded from his bed with the ferocity of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. "But the Quidditch final is on a Saturday! Gryffindor versus Slytherin! You _can't_ miss it!"  
  
Harry shrugged helplessly even as he turned a meaningful eye onto Ron. As Ron stared, dumbfounded, Harry's words from down in the common room burst in his brain like a deck of Exploding Snap cards. His mouth fell open.  
  
"_Me_?" he squeaked. "You want _me_ to play Seeker against Slytherin? In the biggest game of the year?"  
  
Ron didn't wait for Harry's reply. None was needed. If Harry was gone, Ron, as the only reserve Seeker, would _have_ to play! But -- he _couldn't_ play!  
  
"I'm not good enough!" Ron said weakly. "I'm only the reserve! I mean, I know Malfoy's not in _your_ league, Harry, but he's a damn sight better than _I_ am! I'd rather suffer the Slug-Belly Curse again than admit it, but it's true."   
  
"Okay," Harry said. "Malfoy's better than you -- _now_! But you and I are going to work, and train -- we're going to -- we're going to turn you into _Charlie_!"  
  
"Charlie?" Ron said blankly.  
  
"Your brother, Charlie," Harry said. "The day McGonagall introduced me to Wood, she said Charlie was the best Seeker Gryffindor'd had for ages. Well, Charlie Weasley is gone, but _Ron_ Weasley is _here_! And he's going to _catch_ that Golden Snitch and _win_ the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor! Right?"  
  
Ron was still far from convinced. "It's impossible, Harry. The Slytherins all ride Nimbus 2001's. There's no _way_ I'm beating Malfoy to the Snitch riding a Cleansweep 7."  
  
"That sounds about right," Harry said, the ghost of a smile drifting across his face. "But who says you'll be riding a Cleansweep 7?"  
  
It took a moment for Harry's words to register on Ron's numbed brain, which nearly made the jump from insensate to catatonic.  
  
"You don't MEAN it! You're -- you're giving me your FIREBOLT?"  
  
"Lending," Harry said, delighting at the look of amazement spreading across Ron's face. "I'm having it back the second you've finished your victory lap. And mind you don't let anything happen to it. If I see so much as a scratch on the handle, or a single bent twig on the tail, Fred and George will promptly find themselves sharing the dubious distinction of being the youngest Weasley brothers.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Ron couldn't answer. His eyes had glazed over, and he was wearing a vague smile which had only ever been seen by Harry, if he but remembered it. It was the smile Ron had worn four years ago when, accompanying Harry to a deserted classroom in the dead of night, he had stood before the Mirror of Erised. In that enchanted glass, Ron had seen himself in his final year at Hogwarts, wearing the red-and-gold robes of Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, sporting the silver Head Boy badge, and proudly holding the Quidditch Cup.  
  
Ron sighed dreamily. With his grades, he knew he was unlikely ever to be Head Boy. And with players like Harry on the team, his chances of becoming Quidditch Captain were equally remote. But the Quidditch Cup -- the Quidditch Cup!   
  
Well, Ron thought as the dormitory came back into focus and his smile grew quite as large as Harry's -- one out of three wasn't bad.  
  


***

  
**Author's Note:** Most of the reliable rumors have it that Ron will replace Oliver Wood as Gryffindor's Keeper. It makes perfect sense. But where's the fun in THAT? Oh, it'll be fun for RON, I suppose. But I'm talking about MY fun! I can pull his strings MUCH better THIS way!  
  
The curious among you are invited to return for Chapter 2 to see exactly HOW I pull those strings.  
  
By the way, is anyone out there reading Umbra Antitheus: Shadow Devil by sbys? It's a sequel to her first story, Goodbye. Give yourself a treat. She is so talented, she makes ME look like a monkey pounding my keyboard with a banana.  
  
One last word from the monkey: Thanks for reading.  



	2. A Change of Strategy

**Author's Note:** If you all have read Confessions, this story's predecessor, you should have an idea which character will be popping up in this chapter. I know Occamy and sbys have done so; I'm not sure about HoGwArTs fLiRt13. Prod your brains one last time, then read on for the answer.   
  
  


***

  
  
"How's Ron doing?" Hermione asked as she seated herself beside Harry on a bench at the edge of the Quidditch field.  
  
"Not good," Harry sighed despondently. "I dunno _what's_ wrong. I'm using the same training techniques that Wood used on _me_. I'm doing everything right -- at least, I _think_ I am -- but it's just not working out the way it should."  
  
"Ron's not catching the Snitch?" Hermione said in a worried voice.  
  
"No," Harry said with an even deeper sigh, his worry matching Hermione's line for line. "During mock games, I play opposing Seeker against Ron while Fred and George pelt Bludgers at the both of us. Ron isn't swerving quickly enough, and in the time it takes him to evade the Bludgers, he loses sight of the Snitch. I've beaten him to it at least a dozen times, riding one of the school brooms. He's starting to get discouraged. Blimey, _I'm_ way _past_ discouraged."  
  
"We need this game to win the House Championship, don't we?" Hermione asked, laying a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder.  
  
"The points have never been closer," Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "The only house officially eliminated is Hufflepuff. Everything hinges on the outcome of this last match."  
  
"You know," Hermione mused in her uniquely thoughtful way, "maybe you're _too_ good."  
  
Harry blinked, confused. Hermione smiled.  
  
"You know the old saying: 'Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.' I'm not saying you don't work hard, Harry. I've seen how tired you can get after practice. But I've noticed that a good part of your success comes because you act without thinking. I don't mean you act rashly," Hermione said quickly, seeing the challenging look on Harry's face. "What I mean is, in a given situation, you don't _think_ about what needs to be done -- you just _do_ it. And if someone were to ask you later _why_ you did what you did, you wouldn't be able to tell them. Because you honestly don't know. I suppose you'd call it Flier's Instinct. And that's something you simply _can't_ teach."  
  
"Are you saying that Ron needs to be trained by someone who doesn't actually _play_ Quidditch?" Harry asked.  
  
"I wouldn't go _that_ far," Hermione said with an amused smile. "But it's a simple fact that the best players don't always make the best coaches. Ron obviously needs _something_ that you can't give him. We just need to find _someone_ who _can_."  
  
"An ideas?" Harry said in a hopeful voice.  
  
Hermione's lips pursed tightly, as they always did when she was deep in thought. "I'll let you know," she said through a small, cryptic smile.  
  
Harry knew better than to ask. He merely laughed softly and pulled her against him so he could plant a light kiss on her smiling lips, causing them to smile even more broadly.  
  
"What was that for?" she asked, a pink tinge coloring her cheeks.  
  
"No reason," Harry smirked.  
  
"Right, then," Hermione said as she tightened her hold on Harry's waist. "Just wondering."  
  


*

  
Following classes the next day, Ron plodded up to his dormitory to dump his books before going off to Quidditch practice. There seemed little point, he mused, as the past week's practices had grown progressively worse with each passing day. But there was nothing for it. Harry would not be able to play in the big game, leaving only Ron to fill the void. But right now, Ron felt like a very small plug trying to stop a very _big_ drain.  
  
Ron found the Fifth-Year dormitory deserted. This was not surprising, as Harry was usually first on the field on a practice day. Dumping his books into his trunk, Ron retrieved the Firebolt from Harry's trunk and trudged downstairs, holding the broomstick protectively against his body. Only two days ago, a staircase had shifted suddenly so that the Firebolt had nearly been pitched over the railing. Henceforth, Ron was taking no chances. Whatever might befall the broomstick in future would be shared by Ron himself. And if worst came to worst, at least Madam Pomfrey might prevent Harry from getting close enough to strangle him.  
  
He descended the many flights of stairs in a sort of funk. Before he knew it he was approaching the Quidditch field, and immediately he spied a tiny figure darting through the air between the goalposts, black robes a-flutter and raven hair tossing in the backwash.  
  
'Blimey,' Ron thought with a touch of envy, 'Harry really can fly.' As he walked onto the field, he shouted a greeting at the top of his lungs, waving his arm lazily. The flier halted in mid-air with a skill Ron could not help but admire, even through his melancholy. He watched as Harry descended lazily to the grass and walked unhurriedly toward him, broomstick in hand. Only -- something was wrong. The figure approaching him didn't seem right somehow. It was too short, for one thing. And there was something odd about that smooth, rolling walk, not at all like Harry's jerky, long-legged stride. It was as if --  
  
Ron's mouth suddenly fell open. It wasn't Harry! It was --  
  
"CHO?"  
  
Cho Chang glided up to Ron, her onyx eyes bright as her smile.  
  
"Up for a bit of flying today, Ron?" she said in a musical voice that made Ron's brain go numb.  
  
"What?" Ron said stupidly. "You? I mean -- where's Harry?"  
  
"Harry's schedule was getting a bit crowded," Cho said. "He asked me to fill in for him as Seeker Coach. You don't mind, do you?"  
  
Standing this close to the beautiful Ravenclaw, Ron could easily understand why Harry had fancied her for most of two years. Ron remembered Seamus remarking before last year's Yule Ball that Ron's and Harry's partners, the Patil twins, were "the best-looking girls in the year." If that were true, then surely Cho was the "best-looking girl" in _her_ year.   
  
"Uh..." Ron said at last, "No...no problem."  
  
"Smashing," Cho said with a smile and a firm, no-nonsense nod. "Let's see what you've got."  
  
Cho mounted her broom -- a Comet 260, Ron noted -- and shot into the air. Ron stared after her for a moment, then followed on the Firebolt.  
  
Ron saw at once that his earlier assessment had been dead on -- Cho _was_ an excellent flier. Even on what was undeniably a superior broomstick, Ron was only just able to keep up with her as she cavorted through the air like a wingless pixie. Cho executed a dozen difficult maneuvers with textbook precision, looking back each time to observe Ron as he copied her every move -- or tried to. A sick feeling was churning in the pit of his stomach. Was _everyone_ at Hogwarts a better flier than he? Here he was, sitting astride what was unarguably the best racing broom in the world -- the same broomstick which the Irish National Team had ridden to victory in the Quidditch World Cup two years ago -- yet, no matter the competition, Ron always seemed to come out second best.  
  
Cho was hovering now, a look of deep thought on her oval face.  
  
"I can see we have a lot of work to do," she said amiably.  
  
"We do?" Ron said as he hung motionless directly in front of Cho.   
  
"The real problem," Cho said, "is that Harry never should have been coaching you in the first place."  
  
"Harry's a great Seeker," Ron said defensively. 'He's beaten _you_ often enough,' he added silently, not wanting to offend Cho, for whom he held no true animosity.  
  
"Yes," Cho agreed pleasantly. "With a bit more seasoning, he could play for England. I'd say he's better than Viktor Krum was at the same age."  
  
Ron's face brightened perceptibly.   
  
"But," Cho added pointedly, "he's been making the mistake of trying to turn YOU into another _him_. And there's only _one_ Harry Potter."  
  
Ron found himself liking Cho more every minute.  
  
"What we need to do," Cho declared, "is define and develop _your_ natural style. So -- fly around the pitch a few times. Do whatever you want. Let your instincts take over. Don't think -- just fly."  
  
With a nod and a smile, Ron took off and flew back and forth, between and around the two sets of fifty-foot-high goalposts. Clearing his mind, Ron melded to his broomstick, doing loops and rolls, diving and climbing, swinging wide one moment, cutting razor-sharp turns the next. When at last he returned to hover expectantly before Cho, she was nodding her head slowly, and, it seemed to Ron, decisively.  
  
"I was right," she said confidently. "Harry's style is all wrong for you. You're taller than Harry, stronger, heavier. What works for _him_ is the Killing Curse for _you_. In fact, if I were to make a comparison, I'd say your style very much resembles -- Cedric's."  
  
"Cedric's?" Ron gaped slightly, quite as startled as if she had spoken Voldemort's name aloud.  
  
"Yes," Cho said in a ghostly voice. "Cedric was -- very strong. He had an aggressive style that served him very well. Not so much finesse. Bold. Very bold." Cho paused a moment as she resumed the slow nodding motion Ron had observed earlier. "Yes," she said with quiet decisiveness. "That's what we'll do.  
  
"So, at the risk of repeating myself," she smiled, her face suddenly glowing as brightly as the afternoon sun, "are you up for a bit of flying today?"  
  
The ease with which Cho's radiant smile spread across her face prompted Ron to reciprocate with his trademark grin.  
  
"Right, Coach. Let's have a bash."  
  
  


***

  
  
**Author's Note:** Did you figure it out? If so, boast about it in a review. Smart readers always compel a writer to work harder, and that's a winning proposition for both sides.  
  
To sbys: I've been trying for a week to review your last chapter (among others), but the site won't accept my reviews. I WILL find a way. Work as good as yours deserves all the reviews it can get.  
  
Tune in next time to see if Ron's NEW coach has better luck than his OLD one did. See you then.  



	3. Lion, Snake and Eagle

**Author's Note:** What? Neither Occamy nor sbys reasoned that the substitute coach HAD to be Cho? After she and Harry bonded in the back-story of Confessions, who ELSE would he ask to take his place? She IS a Seeker, and a good one (though not as good as Harry).  
  
It should be much easier to divine THIS chapter's new player. (The chapter title provides the clue.) The practice is about to begin, so hurry off to take your seat in the stadium (in the Gryffindor section, I hope). Cheer all you want, but mind you don't spill pumpkin juice down the neck of the person in front of you. Wands CAN sometimes be drawn in anger, and the Slug-Belly Curse can be very unpleasant. Just ask Ron.  
  
  


***

  
  
"I _knew_ I'd find you up here!"  
  
Hermione was standing in the doorway of the Fifth Year boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. Her arms were folded, and she wore an expression that mirrored the tone of her voice: one of mingled disapproval and amusement.  
  
Harry was sitting on his trunk, which he had dragged from the foot of his bed and positioned directly under the window which looked West out onto the Hogwarts grounds. With his elbows on the window sill and his chin in his hands, it was evident to Hermione that his mind was as far from the homework he was supposed to be doing as it could possibly get. Long before she had crossed the distance between them so as to see out the window herself, Hermione knew precisely what images were filling Harry's thoughts.  
  
Harry jumped when Hermione placed her arms around his neck. Turning about to find himself staring into his girlfriend's deep brown eyes, Harry flashed a guilty grin which he hoped would defuse the unspoken accusation in Hermione's expression.  
  
"Have you seen Ron's flying in the last couple of weeks?" Harry said as he turned his attention back to the scene outside his window. "I wouldn't have believed it. Y'know, I was only stroking Ron's ego when I told him he could be another Charlie. But I think he's actually gone and done it."  
  
Hermione tightened her hold on Harry as she stood behind him. Even with Harry sitting, Hermione's chin was only just able to rest atop his head, from which position her eyes were able to follow his across the Hogwarts grounds and onto the Quidditch pitch.  
  
"I know you wish it was you out there," Hermione said understandingly. "Ron really is coming along, isn't he? Engaging Cho as his coach was inspired, Harry. It's not only helped Ron to realize his full potential, but it's been good for Cho, too. It gives her something to focus on besides..."  
  
She did not need to finish her thought. Harry nodded. "We really need this win tomorrow. Even with all those points you racked up during final exams, it's still anyone's race to win. I hate to admit it, but I think some part of me doubted whether Ron had the right stuff to pull it off. But now -- blimey, I'd love to be out there tomorrow, cheering him on."  
  
"I wish you could, too," Hermione said softly, the slight tremble in her voice implying more than her words alone might suggest. "You and Sirius are going out again tomorrow, I suppose?"  
  
"Yes," Harry said. "Dumbledore reckons we're getting close to a secret meeting place where we might catch the lot of them together. It would deprive Voldemort of some of his most valuable agents, maybe set his plans back months."  
  
"I know you're doing what you feel you have to, Harry," Hermione said. "In your place, I'd probably do the same thing. And if it brings us a step closer to ending Voldemort's reign of terror..."  
  
Harry smiled appreciatively at hearing Hermione speak Voldemort's name. She did so only in hushed tones, it was true, and never in the presence of others. But that she had found the courage within herself to do so at all warmed Harry's heart. Hermione was special in so many ways already. This was merely one more reason to love her.  
  
"Well," Hermione said resignedly, tightening her arms around Harry's neck, "if you'll be gone tomorrow, then we'd best get to that Potions essay _now_. It's due on Monday, you know. And if I know Snape, he's not going to accept any excuse short of death for you not handing it in."  
  
"It's not fair," Harry grumbled. "Exams are over. Why do I have to do an essay at all?"  
  
"Because of all the classes you missed to attend meetings of the Order," Hermione reminded him. "And to be perfectly fair, we _are_ in our classes to _learn_."  
  
Sighing heavily in defeat, Harry dragged his eyes from the window and allowed Hermione to lead him down the spiral staircase to the Gryffindor common room.   
  


*

  
The wind rushed over Ron's ears in a steady roar as he sped through the air. He had spied a glint of gold from the corner of his eye, and he was now flashing meteor-like toward the Southwest corner of the field, his right hand outstretched as his left guided the Firebolt with a sure, steady confidence.  
  
Suddenly, at the farthest range of his peripheral vision, Ron glimpsed a dark shape hurtling toward him. Not taking his eyes from his target, he gave his broomstick a sharp tug; the Firebolt, responding with the speed of thought, executed a perfectly-timed roll so that the Bludger pelting straight for his head missed him cleanly and disappeared from sight. Completing his roll with the sharpness of a whip-crack, Ron shot forward, a triumphant smile on his freckled face. With a final burst of speed, Ron clamped his fingers shut and exulted to feel a frantic, futile thrumming of tiny wings within his grasp. He soared high into the air, his arm raised to display the Golden Snitch held tightly in his closed fist.  
  
"BRAVO!" Fred shouted as he waved his Beater's club energetically.  
  
"You ducked that Bludger better than Charlie ever would have," George said as both twins closed in on Ron, who sported the widest grin either had ever seen him wear.  
  
"All down to Cho," Ron said as he opened his hand and released the Snitch, which quickly darted away and vanished against the canopy of clear, blue sky.  
  
"You did the work, Ron," Cho said as she glided up to join the three Weasleys. Her face was positively radiant in the glow of the late afternoon sun, her dark eyes sparkling like dusky jewels.  
  
The four of them glided to the ground, laughing and exchanging compliments. But no sooner had Ron's feet touched the grass than his soaring spirits were likewise grounded by a cold, drawling voice.  
  
"So it's true, is it?" Draco Malfoy was walking across the field, flanked by his two goons, Crabbe and Goyle. "I thought it must be a joke. Gryffindor must be desperate to let _you_ play Seeker in the biggest game of the year, Weasley."  
  
As Ron glowered at Malfoy, Fred strode forward, his broomstick brandished weapon-like in his hand. "Come to spy, have you, Malfoy?" Fred said hotly. "Well, go back and tell that sorry excuse for a Slytherin team that they might as well stay in bed tomorrow and save themselves the humiliation. This match is as good as won."  
  
Malfoy's lip curled derisively. "You're joking! Just because Potty is letting the Weasle ride his broomstick doesn't mean he's qualified to _fly_ it."  
  
"He caught the Snitch, didn't he?" George said sharply from where he now stood on Ron's other side. Though Fred and George were not nearly so large and threatening as Crabbe and Goyle, Ron was grateful for the support all the same. And if it came to a battle of wands, Ron did not doubt that Fred and George could more than hold their own against Malfoy's sluggish, stupid cronies.  
  
"Anyone can catch the Snitch in practice," Malfoy sneered contemptuously. "But do it in a real game?" Malfoy's grey eyes were now piercing Ron's blue ones like white-hot needles. "If you're smart, Weasley, _you'll_ stay in bed tomorrow. Tell that pathetic excuse for a captain of yours that she's welcome to concede the match any time."  
  
"You might be surprised, Malfoy," interjected a new voice. Cho had now stepped forward. Malfoy had evidently missed seeing her, as she was considerably shorter than even Fred and George, who were themselves not nearly so tall as Ron. Malfoy now regarded Cho with something less than approval. The Slytherin team had never included girls, and Malfoy made no attempt to disguise his contempt for the Ravenclaw Seeker.  
  
"Yes, I heard you were coaching Weasley, Chang," Malfoy said dismissively. "Talk about the blind leading the blind. I seem to recall Slytherin beating Ravenclaw in the first game of the year, and by a good margin, too."  
  
No one spoke. It was true that Malfoy, playing Seeker for Slytherin, had beaten Cho to the Snitch in their matchup last October. It was chiefly through Harry's support that Cho had played at all, burdened as she still was by the memory of Cedric's death. Even so, it had been a close game until the Slytherin Beaters, playing their typical dirty brand of Quidditch, had knocked Cho off her broom with a relentless hail of Bludgers, putting her in the infirmary for three days.  
  
To everyone's surprise, not least Malfoy's, Cho smiled with no slightest hint of malice.  
  
"Let's go, Ron," she said, her warm, midnight eyes never leaving Malfoy's cold, grey ones. "This little Mudblood's not worth the bother."  
  
With silent intakes of breath, the three Weasleys watched as Malfoy's pale cheeks began to burn like twin sunsets.  
  
"What did you call me?" Malfoy said hoarsely as he quivered ever so slightly, as with suppressed fury.   
  
"Mudblood," Cho said in a sweet yet condescending voice. "It refers to someone without proper wizarding blood."  
  
Now shivering visibly with rage, Malfoy hissed venomously, "I'll have you know that the Malfoy family can trace its magical origins back to the days of Merlin himself."  
  
Cho's gentle yet derisive laugh cut Malfoy like a knife.  
  
"The Chang family dates back over five thousand years," she said with an airy amusement. "MY family were royal magicians in the courts of the emperors of China when _your_ people were living in wattle huts and herding goats with staffs instead of wands. Ah, well," she shrugged. "Mudblood _is_ as Mudblood _does_, I suppose."  
  
With a nod at Ron, Cho turned her back on Malfoy, who could only stare dumbfounded after her as she glided away with her shoulders squared and her head held high. The three Weasleys followed her like a royal escort, and it was not until they passed under the arch leading to the Gryffindor locker room that all four dissolved into gales of laughter.  
  
"That was _brilliant_!" George said, his sides aching from his unrestrained guffaws.  
  
"Is he gone yet?" Fred gasped as his laughter subsided. Ron peered around the corner of the doorway cautiously.  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, turning to reveal freckled cheeks glistening with tears of mirth. "All clear. Blimey, but that was priceless! Not _quite_ as good as the day Mad-Eye -- excuse me, Crouch -- turned him into the 'Amazing Bouncing Ferret' -- but ruddy close!"  
  
"Were your family _really_ court magicians, Cho?" Fred asked, his voice now back to normal.  
  
"Who knows?" Cho smiled impishly. "But it sure put a cork in _his_ cake hole, didn't it?"  
  
Following a bout of renewed laughter, Fred handed his school broom to George, who replaced them in the storage cupboard. The twins then moved toward the doorway leading to the showers.  
  
"Coming, Ron?" George called over his shoulder.  
  
Ron shook his head before casting his eyes on Cho. "Still a lot of daylight left. I want to get in as much practice as I can before tomorrow."  
  
"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" George said. "Blimey, I'm beginning to think we can really _do_ this."  
  
"Sleep on your back tonight," Ron advised as he shifted toward the doorway. "Both of you. Don't want your arms to cramp up tomorrow. I want to see those Bludgers knocking _Malfoy's_ head off, not _mine_."   
  
By the time Ron reached the edge of the field, Cho at his side, his smile had retreated into an expression of quiet determination which his companion regarded with undisguised admiration.  
  
"You _do_ want this badly, don't you?" Cho said in a low voice.  
  
"More than you know," Ron returned in a near-whisper.  
  
"It's not easy being Harry Potter's best mate, is it?" Cho said without warning.   
  
Turning about in surprise, Ron was momentarily startled to behold an expression of calm serenity on Cho's face which seemed to soften her already lovely features into something beyond definition. Suspecting that Cho's question might have been rhetorical, he responded with a question of his own, one which was decidedly _not_ rhetorical.  
  
"Why are you doing this, Cho? I mean, Harry asked you and all. But what's in it for _you_?"  
  
"Suspicious, aren't you?" Cho chuckled, her dark eyes penetrating.  
  
"Uh -- yeah," Ron admitted. "Guess I am. Growing up with Fred and George do that to a bloke, I guess."   
  
"You'll laugh," Cho said hesitantly.  
  
"No, I won't," Ron said earnestly.  
  
Regarding Ron closely for a moment, Cho said, "No. Maybe you won't. The _old_ Ron might have. But this _new_ Ron..."  
  
Ron waited patiently for Cho to speak, their eyes linked as if by a silken thread.  
  
"What do I get out of it," Cho said analytically. "Aside from helping someone who helped _me_, that is. It's very simple, Ron. I want Ravenclaw to come in second in the House Championship this year."  
  
"Come again?"  
  
Cho smiled amusedly. "Harry told you that the points are very close this year," she prompted. Ron nodded. "Well, they're not so close as Harry thinks. I've seen the exam results, and the best Ravenclaw can hope for is second place. Whoever wins this last game will win the House Championship. That's set in stone. But second and third place are up for grabs. Gryffindor currently holds a slight lead over Slytherin. If Slytherin wins tomorrow, they'll beat Gryffindor narrowly, putting Ravenclaw in third place. But if _Gryffindor_ wins tomorrow, then Slytherin will fall _below_ Ravenclaw. And _that's_ what I want. _That's_ what I'm working for."  
  
"Are you saying," Ron said in disbelief, "that it's _okay_ with you if Ravenclaw finishes _second_?"  
  
"Of course," Cho replied. "If that's all we've _earned_, then that's where we _belong_. Just so long," she added with a devilish grin, "as we finish _above_ Slytherin -- and _Malfoy_."  
  
Ron shook his head. "Just once," he smiled wanly, "I want to know what it feels like to be the _best_ at something. That's not easy when you're the youngest of six brothers. Sure, Ginny's younger than me," he conceded. "But it's different with her. She's the only girl, so there's really nothing for her to measure up to, y'know? Me, now..."  
  
Ron's eyes took on a faraway look as they cast skyward searchingly.  
  
"The day I met Harry on the Hogwarts Express, I had Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat..."  
  
Ron's voice trailed off uncertainly. It was best not to elaborate as to the true nature of Scabbers. Most of the school remained ignorant of Ron's, Harry's and Hermione's connection to Sirius Black, in which Scabbers -- revealed to be an Animagus named Peter Pettigrew -- played no small part. And so long as Sirius remained a fugitive with the specter of Azkaban hanging over his head, better that that ignorance remain undispelled.  
  
"Even now," Ron said gloomily, brandishing Harry's Firebolt meaningfully, "I'm only second best. If Harry weren't off working for Dumbledore on some secret mission involving You-Know-Who, I wouldn't be in this spot. I'd be up in the stands, where I belong, cheering Harry to victory."  
  
"That's as may be," Cho said. "But Harry _isn't_ here. You _are_. And when the Gryffindor team takes to the air tomorrow, you _will_ be their Seeker.   
  
"Now, shall we carry on with our practice? If you're as pathetic as you seem to _think_ you are, then we shouldn't waste a minute, should we?"  
  
The twinkle in Cho's eyes brought an unwilling grin to Ron's slightly pink face. He didn't know why he had spoken so candidly just now. None but Harry and Hermione had ever elicited such unrestrained forthrightness from him before.  
  
"We won't need the Bludgers any more," Cho said, delicately steering the conversation back to the business at hand. "I'll Summon them back and box them up." Suiting deed to word, she drew her wand and pointed it toward the vast open space between the two sets of goalposts, where the twin Bludgers could be glimpsed darting about in search of unwary fliers to knock off their brooms.   
  
"Pull in the Snitch while you're at it," Ron said, a look of steely determination hardening his features.  
  
Cho's brow furrowed in momentary confusion before relaxing in concert with a smile of realization.   
  
"I want to get it just right," Ron said firmly. "After what just happened a bit ago, I intend to have a little surprise waiting for Malfoy tomorrow."  
  
Once the Bludgers and the Golden Snitch were safely put away, Cho walked to the bench at the edge of the field whereon sat the magical megaphone she had been using throughout their practice sessions -- the same one used by Lee Jordan to commentate the matches on game day. Megaphone in hand, Cho mounted her broom and, with a nod at Ron, shot into the air. Cho rose higher than Ron, enabling her to observe him from every angle. Once she was positioned, she began to shout instructions through the megaphone.  
  
"Right, now," she directed, her magically-enhanced voice carrying easily to Ron's ears. "Tight grip. Forward just a little. Bit more. That's it." As Ron exploded into a blur of motion below her, Cho watched with unblinking eyes, the megaphone in her hand trembling from her excitement. "Not yet!" she shouted as her voice reverberated from the stands. "Hold it...hold it...NOW!"  
  
Cho felt as if her heart had stopped; then, a moment later, she let out a whoop of triumph and unbridled delight. She nosed her broomstick groundward, touching the grass lightly as Ron did an ecstatic loop overhead before swooping down with surgical precision and landing feather-light in front of her. As Cho clapped her hands with delight, her face beaming, Ron ran forward and threw his arms around her.  
  
"I'm going to _do_ it!" Ron barked savagely. "I'm going to show Malfoy! I'm going to show them _all_!"   
  
Ron pulled back from Cho, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. She smiled up at him from her diminutive height; it was, Ron thought suddenly, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Their eyes met, and it was as if an unseen hand had flicked a switch in Ron's brain, extinguishing all cogent thought like a candle flame. With no slightest thought to guide him, he acted. In one smooth, unhurried motion, Ron bent and covered Cho's mouth with his. Their lips melded for the barest moment before Cho jerked back as if stung by a hornet. Her dark, limpid eyes were wide with something Ron could later describe only as horror. Petrified by the unexpectedness of his action, Ron could only look on in a state of near shock as Cho tore herself away and bolted across the field, her broomstick lying forgotten on the grass.  
  
  


***

  
  
**Author's Note:** Be back next time when Seekers Weasley and Malfoy square off in the battle for the Quidditch Cup and the House Championship. Reserve your seat early. I hear the whole school is turning out. See you then. 


	4. Showdown in the Sky

**Author's Note:** I see that returning reviewer Occamy was joined last time by first-timers Morgan Le Faye and Sam. Welcome, and I hope you enjoy your brief stay. (Did I mention the story is only 6 chapters long?) The big match is about to begin, Cho has returned the magical microphone to Lee Jordan, so settle in and get ready for some action.  
  
By the way, you ARE sitting in the Gryffindor section, aren't you? You wouldn't dare root for Slytherin -- would you?  
  
  


***

  
  
"You alright, Ron?"  
  
Ron was only vaguely aware of the voice speaking in his ear. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into the deep brown eyes of Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Angelina Johnson.  
  
"It's okay to be nervous," Angelina smiled. "I was a bloody wreck before _my_ first game."  
  
"Yeah," Ron muttered. "But _your_ first game wasn't for the Quidditch Cup -- _and_ the House Championship."  
  
Angelina rubbed Ron's neck reassuringly as Fred and George charged up from behind, each holding a broom in one hand and a Beater's club in the other.   
  
"Now remember, Ron," Fred said, "you don't have to worry about how many goals we're up or down. The points are so close that it all comes down to who catches the Snitch. Even if we're a hundred points behind, it won't matter so long as you get the Snitch."  
  
"A hundred points behind?" Katie Bell grinned crookedly. "You have a lot of faith in your team, don't you?"  
  
"Just takin' the pressure off Ron, Katie, luv," George spoke for his twin. "We know we've got the three best Chasers at Hogwarts."   
  
"And the prettiest," Fred added.  
  
"Sell it to Professor Sprout for compost," Alicia Spinnet said, swatting Fred's backside with her broom.  
  
"Right," Angelina said, her eyes on her watch. "One minute and counting. Let's go."  
  
Rising from the bench in the Gryffindor locker room, Ron followed the rest of the team to the archway beyond which lay the Quidditch field. Seconds later, Madam Hooch's whistle sounded, and the seven red-robed figures kicked off and soared out over the field to tumultuous applause.  
  
As was typically the case, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were rooting for Gryffindor -- or, to be more precise, against Slytherin. Scarlet-and-gold banners covered three-fourths of the stands, overwhelming the modest patch of green and silver marking the Slytherin supporters. It was virtually impossible to separate the true Gryffindors from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff -- although the former might necessarily be cheering just a bit louder than the latter, as they had a genuine stake in the outcome.  
  
It was for that reason that Ron could not take Fred's advice to heart. The total points might make no difference for Gryffindor, but it could make all the difference in the world to Ravenclaw. After Cho had worked so hard to make Ron into what he hoped was a passable Seeker, he owed it to her to do his best to win the game decisively for Gryffindor, thus assuring second place for Ravenclaw.   
  
As the Gryffindor team spread out across the field, Ron soared high to take a position far above the general excitement. His concerns as regards Ravenclaw notwithstanding, it _was_ best that he distance himself from the activities of the six Chasers and two Keepers (though he would be wise to devote at least a portion of his attention to the Beaters). He could not help but notice the incessant blurs of scarlet-gold and green-silver criss-crossing below him as both sides strove to put the Quaffle through the appropriate goal hoops. But the colors he needed to focus on were the black of the Bludgers and, most importantly, the Golden Snitch.  
  
"Careful with that broomstick, Weasley," drawled a cold voice off to Ron's right. "If you damage it, your father'll have to sell your house to pay for it. Although, even then, that still might not be enough for the down payment."  
  
Drawing on the self-control he had honed during his months with Hermione, Ron ignored Malfoy's taunts -- which, to his delight, seemed to incense the Slytherin Seeker far more than any verbal retort. Malfoy appeared on the verge of an even more scathing diatribe when, without a hint of warning, Ron lunged forward onto the handle of his broomstick and dived. Malfoy, his pale face going chalk-white with horror, pointed his Nimbus 2001 at the tail of Ron's broom and shot after him like a bullet.  
  
Even with a head start on a superior broomstick, Ron was being pressed relentlessly by Malfoy, who, all bluster aside, was undoubtedly a very good flier. At first the two hurtling broomsticks went unnoticed by those below, who were immersed in a heated contest of epic proportions. It was not until a Gryffindor goal brought a lull in the excitement that Lee Jordan caught sight of the desperately diving Seekers and jerked his head up excitedly, his hand clutching his enchanted megaphone in a stranglehold.  
  
"Katie Bell passes to Angelina Johnson -- watch out, Angelina! -- that was close, just dodged that Bludger -- and SHE SCORES! The Gryffindor team is --   
  
"MERLIN'S BUM! Gryffindor Seeker Ron Weasley is diving, with Slytherin Seeker Draco Malfoy on his tail! They're both going for the Snitch! Weasley's Firebolt is in the lead, but Malfoy's Nimbus 2001 is gaining. It's going to be --  
  
"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!"  
  
Lee had leaped up onto his chair, and his free hand was stabbing at the air as his dreadlocks danced around his shoulders like wind chimes in a hurricane. He was momentarily speechless, but that was irrelevant, as every eye in the stadium had witnessed first-hand the most incredible sight any of them had ever seen in a Hogwarts Quidditch game. As Ron and Malfoy had sped downward at lightning speed, Ron had abruptly jerked back on his broom handle and shot into the sky as if propelled by the explosive discharge of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. But a stunned Malfoy had been unable to pull out of his dive, and he plowed headlong into the ground, where he now lay motionless in a crumpled heap of green-and-silver robes and disrupted earth.  
  
"It's INCREDIBLE!" Lee was shouting now, his voice returned in full force. Even shouting with all his might through his megaphone, he was only just able to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "Ron Weasley has just executed a textbook-perfect Wronski Feint! The Slytherin Seeker is down! The time-out whistle has sounded, and Madam Pomfrey is rushing onto the field. The Slytherin Captain is complaining to Madam Hooch that Seeker Weasley's move was illegal, but to no avail. The Wronski Feint, while difficult and potentially dangerous, is recognized by the Department of Magical Games and Sports as a legal move in either professional or amateur venues. Give it up, you slimy git! You haven't got a leg to stand on! And neither, it seems, does Draco Malfoy, who is now being taken off the field on a stretcher. The Slytherin reserve Seeker is now flying onto the field. Ladies and gentlemen, suddenly it's a whole new game!"  
  
As soon as Malfoy's stretcher was safely away, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the game resumed as before -- though not quite. It was now a battle to be determined solely by reserve Seekers. But Ron's momentary elation evaporated as he watched the Slytherin reserve -- a Fourth Year whom he did not know -- streak into the sky to take up his position. If anything, this substitute was a better flier than Malfoy, whose position on the team, nearly everyone knew, had been secured through the donation of the team's fine broomsticks by his father. Ron had revenged himself on Malfoy, and sweet though that had been, the game -- despite Lee Jordan's enthusiastic assertion -- was far from over.   
  
The pace of the game changed now. While the action below became more heated, even violent, an unnatural calm pervaded the high sky patrolled by the two Seekers. Fifteen minutes passed. Thirty. Forty-five. Like tandem vultures circling a battlefield, Ron and his counterpart swept the skies with eye and broom, watching and waiting.  
  
With only his thoughts for company now, Ron began to fall into his old pattern of self-doubt. 'Harry would have caught the Snitch by now,' he reprimanded himself. Despair began to gnaw at him. Cuffing himself mentally, he endeavored to shrug it off. He had neither the time nor the luxury to nurse his ego in this manner. The Quidditch Cup and the House Championship hung in the balance. He might win through, and he might not. But, by Merlin, he would not be the instrument of his own defeat. Harry and Cho had both placed their confidence in him, and he was determined to prove worthy of that confidence, win or lose.  
  
Suddenly Ron's reverie shattered like a mirror splintered by a pitched stone. The Slytherin Seeker was rocketing toward the near corner of the stadium, his green robes whipping in the backwash of his dive. This was no feint. He had seen the Snitch. Even as he nosed his Firebolt into a desperate dive, Ron saw the glimmer of gold hovering just above the grass, hundreds of feet below.  
  
The Slytherin Seeker had dived first, but Ron was closer. But though his Firebolt was undoubtedly faster than the Slytherin's broomstick, gravity was the great equalizer. Ron flattened against his broom handle, urging his "steed" on to its limits. He knew he could overcome the other's lead in mere moments. But were there enough moments left?  
  
Some unnamed instinct warned Ron. He rolled just in time to see the black streak of a Bludger cross his path at an angle. Having missed Ron, the Bludger was now heading straight for the Slytherin Seeker. The green-robed figure swerved deftly to avert a head-on impact. But in so doing, he had unavoidably altered his trajectory. True to Ron's appraisal, the Slytherin reserve's skill required but an instant to return him to his original course. But that instant proved to be all Ron needed.  
  
"YES!" Lee Jordan shouted into his magical megaphone. "Weasley has the Snitch! The game is over! Gryffindor wins, 210 points to 80! Gryffindor wins the Cup!"  
  
It was pandemonium in the stadium. Ron was mobbed by his teammates, who nearly crushed him as their combined weight forced them all to the ground in a seething, laughing mass. People were pouring onto the field to congratulate him, and he staggered to his feet, holding Harry's Firebolt protectively out of harm's way. As hands clapped him on shoulder and back, a short, bushy-haired figure leaped up and kissed him on both cheeks. Ron grinned into Hermione's face as he held her fiercely with one arm, her feet dangling a foot above the ground.  
  
"Hands off my girlfriend, you prat!" laughed a voice just behind Hermione. Ron's mouth fell open.  
  
"Harry? What in the bloody hell are YOU doing here?"  
  
"Watching you win the Cup for Gryffindor, of course," Harry said as he pulled Hermione into his arms and caught up Ron's lifeless hand in a congratulatory handshake.   
  
"B-but," Ron stammered, "when did you get back?"   
  
"I never went," Harry laughed. "The Aurors pulled a surprise raid this morning. A captured spy talked -- under the persuasion of Veritaserum, of course -- and we caught the lot of them. Dumbledore told me in his office this morning."  
  
Ron's head was spinning. "Then why didn't you come and play Seeker? Why did you let me go out there and risk making an arse of myself?"  
  
"Well," Harry said, "I _could_ say it's because I haven't trained for a month and I was too far behind to catch up. In fact, if anyone asks later, I think I'll stick with that." He laughed, hugging Hermione playfully, before assuming a more serious demeanor. "But the _real_ reason is -- I didn't _need_ to. I knew I could count on you to catch the Snitch. We all knew it. I told Angelina, and she agreed with me. You earned your place on the team. And if there was any doubt before, you just erased it, didn't you?   
  
"But I WAS wrong about _one_ thing. We _didn't_ turn you into another Charlie."  
  
"Too right," came a familiar voice from behind Harry. "I never _could_ get that ruddy Wronski Feint down right."  
  
"Charlie?" Ron gasped. Then his eyes popped as he saw a veritable sea of red hair milling around behind the dragon-wrangling Weasley. "Mum? Dad?"  
  
Ron's legs nearly failed him. His entire family was there, including Bill and, to his utter amazement, Percy.  
  
"What d'you reckon, Fred?" said George, who had sidled up with his twin on Ron's left. "Mum and Dad never came to see _us_ play."  
  
"Yeah," Fred said, his voice mirroring the tone of mock-hurt assumed by George. "I guess, in this family, only _Seekers_ count for anything."  
  
Molly Weasley elbowed her way past her children, all of whom towered over her, and spread her arms to embrace her youngest son. She endeavored to kiss him, which proved difficult, as she was quite as short as Hermione but not nearly so agile. Instead, she grabbed two fistfuls of scarlet robes and jerked his face down to where she could plant a kiss on his cheek, eliciting laughter from all quarters.  
  
Extricating himself from his mother, Ron said, "Fred, George -- whichever of you hit that Bludger -- "  
  
"George hit it," Fred said.  
  
"Did I?" George said, his eyes going round as if in surprise. "I thought _you_ hit it, Fred. Well, no one _else_ can tell us apart, so why should _we_ be expected to."  
  
"Seriously," Ron said. "I never could have caught the Snitch otherwise."  
  
"Teamwork," George said. "All in a day's work for the Brothers Weasley."   
  
"Right," Fred said. "Sorry I had to hit it at _you_. It was the only way to get the other bloke. But I knew when I hit it that you could duck it, just like in practice."  
  
"_You_ didn't hit it," George said. "_I_ did."  
  
"Oh," Fred grinned. "Right."  
  
"Shut up, the both of you," Bill now put in. "I want to know how Ron pulled off that perfect Wronski Feint."  
  
"You and me both," said Charlie.  
  
Smiling warmly, Ron said, "I had a good coach."  
  
"Love to meet him," Charlie said, his own glory days as Gryffindor's star Seeker clearly awakening from their enforced slumber.  
  
"You'll get your chance," Ron said with a nod. "Here she comes."  
  
Cho was now making her way through the crowd toward Ron, her face positively glowing. As Ron eased a short distance from his mother, Cho leaped into the air and threw her arms around his neck.  
  
"You _did_ it, Ron! You _did_ it!"  
  
"_We_ did it," Ron said, his ears going pink as Bill, Charlie and his father all grinned and his mother surveyed Cho appraisingly.  
  
"You were magnificent," Cho said, her voice growing oddly strained. "Cedric himself couldn't have done better. It was -- it was almost as if -- "  
  
Cho's voice broke. Her magnetic almond eyes widened, and Ron felt a gentle shudder pass through her small figure. As his arms released her, she backed away slowly until she was swallowed into the mass of milling students surrounding Ron like a murmuring sea. Ron's eyes remained on the spot where Cho had disappeared for only a moment before Fred and George swept over him and hoisted him onto their shoulders. Ron was just able to toss Harry his broom before he felt himself being carried toward the stands, where Dumbledore waited to present the Quidditch Cup to the victorious Gryffindors.  
  
The Hogwarts Headmaster was beaming as if he himself had just caught the Snitch. Ron wondered for the first time if Dumbledore had played Quidditch when _he_ was a student at Hogwarts. He would have to remember to have Harry inquire after that some time. But that would suffice for another day. On _this_ day, Ron's mind was already full enough.  
  
Dumbledore smiled down on the Gryffindor team, but it was on Ron that his gaze seemed most intent. His long silver hair and beard shining in the sun, Dumbledore spread his arms welcomingly. Before him stood the silver Quidditch Cup, upon which, Ron now saw, the names of the Gryffindor team, identified by position, glinted in the sun. Whereas there were ordinarily seven names graven on the Championship Cup, this time there were eight. The position of Seeker was represented twice: Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.  
  
As Dumbledore made his speech, his every word accompanied by rousing cheers, Ron knew this should be the greatest day of his life. It was everything he could have hoped for, and more. It was his vision in the Mirror of Erised come true. And yet -- Ron could not explain it -- something was missing. There was an empty feeling inside him which all the glory and triumph was powerless to mitigate. He smiled broadly as he stood before Dumbledore and shook the Headmaster's hand. But that smile was only a mask, albeit a convincing one. A glance around him revealed no hint on any of his friends' faces that they suspected the truth.  
  
There was one alone who might have seen. But she was not there. She was now walking across the Hogwarts grounds toward the castle, her head sunk on her bosom and her eyes fighting back tears. She did not stop walking until she reached the deserted Ravenclaw common room, where she dropped heavily into a chair by the fire and, at last, let the tears come.  
  
  


***

  
  
**Author's Note:** Remember the "secret move" Ron practiced at the end of Chapter 3? Surely you all realized that he was practicing the Wronski Feint?  
  
Well, Ron is finally the best at something. But there's more to life than Quidditch (although you'd have a job convincing Oliver Wood of that), and Ron still has a few issues to sort out. Join us next time for a few "Second" Thoughts. See you then.  



	5. Second Thoughts

**Author's Note:** This time around, reviewers Occamy, Sam and Morgan Le Faye were joined by Bluejello (all of whom were very kind indeed). Now that Quidditch season is over, you might think that there's no more action remaining. Well, that all depends on your definition of "action," doesn't it? Read on and see if you agree.  
  
  


***

  
  
"Feel like talking?"  
  
Cho's eyes remained closed for what seemed a long time before she opened them just enough to see a freckled face hovering a few feet from hers. She surveyed Ron in silence before closing her eyes again.  
  
"Yeah," Ron said with the verbal equivalent of a shrug, "I know, silly question. If you wanted to talk, you wouldn't be hanging around all by yourself, 200 feet over the Quidditch field, would you?"  
  
Ron eased his broomstick over so that he was beside Cho, their faces now less than a foot apart. With Harry's Firebolt safely stored away in his trunk, Ron was riding his old standby Cleansweep 7.  
  
"If you want to fly away," Ron ventured, "I couldn't possibly catch you on this relic."  
  
Cho neither moved nor spoke. The brisk Spring breeze ruffled her thick raven tresses and tugged at her school robes, which, flattened against her curves, amply displayed the charms which had sent more than one distracted Hogwarts student stumbling over some object he would have avoided easily were he looking straight ahead as he should have been.  
  
"Can we go somewhere and talk?" Ron said. "Bit windy up here, innit?"  
  
Still Cho did not respond. Ron eased his broomstick over until their shoulders were touching, their faces inches apart.  
  
"Let's go down," Ron said quietly.  
  
Cho did not resist when Ron took hold of the handle of her Comet 260 and guided the two of them down to the ground in a slow, angled descent. They skimmed a modest cluster of trees on the far side of Hagrid's cabin, Ron's long legs brushing the rustling leaves as they came to rest on the lush, verdant grass. Cho followed wordlessly as Ron found a pair of trees growing so closely together that he and Cho could sit with their backs against them and face each other as if they were sitting in chairs in an unnamed common room. Cho sat with her legs crossed and her head bent. Needing to keep his hands busy, Ron did not set his broom aside, as Cho had done, but lay it across his legs and fumbled with it distractedly.  
  
"So, Ravenclaw got second place, I hear," Ron said in an attempt to break the awkward silence. Cho nodded once. "It all worked out, then." Another nod.  
  
Ron began to fumble with the tail twigs of his broomstick, which he noted absently could do with a bit of grooming. Perhaps he would borrow Harry's broomstick servicing kit and tend to it later. It was only a school broom, he knew, but he respected brooms and liked to see them properly cared for. Lacking the requisite tools, he began to mechanically break off pieces of splintered twigs. When he spoke, his eyes did not leave his task.  
  
"I'm -- sorry I kissed you," he said slowly. "Well, if it comes to that -- " his head rose just enough to permit him to cast Cho a meaningful glance, to which she seemed oblivious, " -- I'm not all _that_ sorry -- you know?" A grin flickered momentarily across his face before retreating as quickly as it came. "I guess what I really mean is -- I'm sorry I kissed you for the wrong reason."  
  
After moments that seemed without end, Cho lifted her head, her eyes finding and locking onto Ron's.  
  
"I'm not Hermione," she said in a low, even voice. It was not an accusation, Ron knew; merely a statement. He nodded.  
  
"And I'm not Cedric. As if I ever _could_ be," he laughed shortly, not without a trace of bitterness. "He was everything I'll never be. Smart, handsome -- classy, I guess you'd say -- Prefect, Quidditch Captain -- probably would've been Head Boy this year if -- " Ron cut himself off, adding hastily, "Can you see _me_ as Head Boy? The day _that_ happens, Snape will wear a flowered bonnet with a stuffed vulture on top." He laughed, and to his welcome surprise, Cho emitted a soft, musical titter. But almost immediately, her laughter dissolved into quiet sobs. Without thinking, Ron leaped forward and folded his arms around Cho, who melted against him like soft clay. The shudders accompanying her tears finally subsided, and Ron felt her shoulders relax as her breathing slowed and became normal again.  
  
"It's been a year," she said in a trembling whisper. "And I still look up every morning at breakfast and expect to see him walking into the Great Hall with a guilty smile on his face, telling me it's all been a -- a great mistake."  
  
Employing a magic spell he had learned who knew where (probably from Hermione), Ron conjured a handkerchief from thin air and handed it to Cho.  
  
"When we were working together," Cho began, wiping her eyes, "I never meant -- I mean -- I wasn't trying to make you into a -- "  
  
"A second-class Cedric?" Ron said through a smile untainted by accusation.  
  
Cho glanced at Ron for a moment before lowering her head. "You deserve better than that."  
  
"So do you," Ron said. "Spending all this time with you, I can see why Harry fancied you for so long. You're a smashing girl, Cho. You deserve the best."  
  
"I could say the same about you," Cho said. "From what I've seen of Hermione, it'll take a _lot_ of witch to take _her_ place. More than _I've_ got, I fancy."  
  
"You gone nutters?" Ron said, recoiling slightly. "You're the prettiest girl in school!"  
  
"You didn't fall in love with Hermione because of her looks," Cho smiled. "There's a world of difference between being pretty and being _beautiful_."  
  
Ron's face reddened slightly.  
  
"And _I_ didn't fall in love with _Cedric_ because of _his_ looks," Cho asserted. "Oh, I know what everyone called him: 'Pretty Boy Diggory.' But he was much more than that. He was good, and kind, and -- and -- classy, like you said. In fact, you and he shared a lot of qualities. You're more alike than you know. Maybe that's why..."  
  
As Cho's voice trailed off, Ron said with a boldness that surprised both of them, "All of a sudden, I feel I want to kiss you again. Just to, uh, thank you, y'know -- for working so hard coaching me," Ron tried to laugh, but succeeded only in coughing awkwardly. "But there's a problem. When I close my eyes, I don't know if I'd be kissing you -- or Hermione."  
  
"There's a simple solution to _that_," Cho said with equal boldness.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Don't close your eyes."  
  
At first Ron thought she was joking. But there was no trace of mockery in her wide, obsidian eyes. Those eyes were so magnetic, in fact, that Ron thought it should be a crime punishable by a term in Azkaban to kiss her any other way than with eyes wide open. Yielding to that magnetic pull, Ron leaned in and, their eyes welded unblinkingly, drew her face to his. Their lips met, fused softly. The scene held for perhaps fifteen seconds.  
  
Neither was sure afterwards which of them had cracked first. All they knew was that they were suddenly lying on their backs in the soft grass, giggling like First Years until their cheeks were wet with tears.  
  
"Now that," Ron said as he stared up at the leafy branches tossing in the wind, "was about as romantic as feeding shredded lettuce to a flobberworm."  
  
"Oh," Cho challenged through her fading laughter, "so I kiss like a flobberworm, do I?"  
  
"A very sexy flobberworm," Ron said as he rose onto one elbow and surveyed Cho approvingly. "The poster girl of flobberdom."  
  
Cho drew herself up into a more dignified sitting position. True to his nature, Ron merely rolled onto his stomach and propped his head in his hands, his elbows digging in to paint the black of his robes with patches of green and brown.  
  
"I haven't laughed like that in ages," Cho said. "Not even in all those months Harry and I spent together.  
  
"Well, Harry never kissed you, did he?" Ron said, shrugging as best he could under present conditions. "I mean, we Weasleys are all funny in our own special way. Fred and George make people laugh with jokes and pranks and stuff. For me, kissing does it every time."  
  
Her shoulders pressing against the rough bark of the tree, Cho tilted her head back as she sighed very softly. "It's not been easy, this last year. I very nearly didn't get on the Hogwarts Express last September -- did you know that? But I saw Harry at the station, and he said something to me -- I don't remember what it was. He came to my compartment later, and we had a nice chat. We must have talked about everything in the world, Muggle as well as wizard. Everything except -- " She paused, drawing another breath. "He was the only one I could open up to. He understood the way no one else could. I don't know where I'd be right now if it wasn't for Harry. I owe him more than I can ever repay."  
  
"Oh, you paid him back," Ron said. "With interest. You opened his eyes, made him see clearly what he'd been blind to for so long. If anything, _he_ owes _you_."  
  
"I'm sorry," Cho said so softly that the rustling leaves nearly swallowed her words. "I...I didn't mean to..."  
  
"No," Ron said firmly, righting himself with great swings of his spider-like legs. "You did the right thing. I told Hermione last Christmas that it was past time that things were set on their proper course. I was never kidding myself. I always knew I was Hermione's second choice. It doen't matter who fancies who _first_. Hermione's the top of the charts. She deserves the _best_, not _second_ best."  
  
"That's such a contradiction in terms," Cho said with an analytical gleam in her eyes that reminded Ron uncannily of Hermione. "Take the House Championship. Gryffindor won, Ravenclaw came in second. Either you're _second_ or you're _best_. You can't be _both_."  
  
"I dunno," Ron returned thoughtfully. "Depends on your definition, dunnit? Take Hermione. In a way, she was Harry's _second_ choice -- after _you_. But you ask _him_, he'll talk until next August about how she's the _best_ thing that ever happened to him. Second. Best. Q.E.D."  
  
"That's very deep," Cho said as she regarded Ron with equal parts of surprise and esteem.  
  
"Well," Ron shrugged, "I'm no Confucius. Although," he added pensively, "Professor McGonagall might argue that I'm nearly always _confused_. Does that count?"  
  
Cho's silent laughter seemed to come from both her lips and her eyes. "I don't think there are a dozen people in this school who have even _heard_ of Confucius."  
  
"Bet your last Galleon that _one_ of them is _Hermione_," Ron grinned. "Spend enough time with _her_, you learn a lot of things you never expected -- whether you _want_ to or _not_."  
  
"I suspect she may have taught you more than a few things you're not even aware of yet," Cho observed sagely.  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"To think of others before yourself," Cho said. "You told Hermione that she belonged with Harry -- to hear Harry tell it, you threatened to Curse her if she didn't go to him. That's _not_ the action of a selfish, immature boy. It's something a _man_ would do. I imagine it must have been the most difficult thing you've ever done."  
  
"You've no idea," Ron said. "On the other hand," he added, his features deepening perceptibly, "maybe you do. You may be the _only_ one at Hogwarts who _does_ know. I mean, you didn't _choose_ to be separated from Cedric for the rest of your life. But you _do_ know how it feels to remember something good you had, that you'll never have again. And you know how hard it is to hold those memories just far enough away so they don't crush you under their weight -- but not so far that you can't feel some of that goodness and be glad that you had it at all, if only for a little while."  
  
Cho was looking at Ron as if she were seeing him for the first time. "I did love him," she said in an even, controlled voice. "He was my first."  
  
"But not your last," Ron affirmed.  
  
"As to that," Cho said wisely, "who can say? Tomorrow is always a closed door from the perspective of today."  
  
"Just so you don't _lock_ that door," Ron said.  
  
"And are you going to follow your own advice, Mr. Ronald Confucius Weasley?" Cho smiled.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"I hope so," Cho said. "Somewhere out there is a girl who might be _your_ 'Second Best.' With the accent on _best_."  
  
" 'Might be'," Ron quoted. "That and a thousand Galleons will get you a Firebolt."  
  
"Life is _filled_ with 'might be's'," Cho said. "Nothing is certain."  
  
"Malfoy being an insufferable git?" Ron prompted with a hidden smirk.  
  
"Okay," Cho conceded with a smile. "_That_ one I'll give you. But _most_ of life is an unending series of 'might be's.' Look at Harry and Hermione. How can they plan a life together, knowing all the while that Harry 'might be' killed by Voldemort tomorrow or the day after?"  
  
Ron flinched involuntarily. He scrutinized Cho, who gave back a sharp look that said, "Cedric was murdered by Voldemort, and I'm damned if I'll cheapen his death by referring to his murderer as 'You-Know-Who'," as clearly as if she had spoken the words aloud.  
  
"They can't hide from that 'might be'," Cho said. "They live with it. More to the point, they _live_."  
  
"At least they've got each other," Ron said. "What do people like _you_ and _me_ do?"  
  
"The best we can," Cho said. "Like everyone else, we just take it one day at a time. And when we're not strong enough to stand on our own -- we lean on our friends -- and trust them not to let us fall."  
  
Ron snapped his fingers abruptly. "I just remembered. Harry and Hermione are going to Hogsmeade this afternoon -- well, everyone is, actually -- celebrating end of term, aren't they? Anyway, they invited me along to this bash at the Three Broomsticks, but, well -- I don't want to be odd man out, y'know? So I was thinking...maybe you'd like to come along, sort of even things out. Strictly speaking, it's Gryffindors only -- House Champions, Quidditch Cup, all that -- but you _did_ coach me, so I'm sure they'll make an exception."  
  
With the most delicate of smiles on her face, Cho observed, "That's very nice of you, Ron -- but do you _really_ think Hermione would want the 'other woman' tagging along with her and Harry? It's different for you -- you three are best mates and all. But me? Now _that's_ a third wing on the post-owl if ever there was one."  
  
"Hmmm," Ron pondered. "Good point. Well, I guess that leaves us only one option."  
  
"And that is -- ?"  
  
Ron's ears went slightly pink. "Um...you and I could go together...just us."  
  
"Ron?" Cho said with a gleam in her eyes and a smile teasing her rose-colored lips. "Are you asking me on a date?"  
  
"Uh..." Ron said haltingly, "...I guess so. Maybe I'm not doing it right -- I mean, I've never really done it before."  
  
"Get off!" Cho said. "You and Hermione dated for, what, four months or something?"  
  
"Yeah...well..." Ron said somewhat clumsily. "It wasn't really -- I mean -- see, Hermione and I had already been out together loads of times. All during Third Year, when Harry didn't have permission to go to Hogsmeade, Hermione and I went together. Purely as friends, mind -- well, as far as _she_ was concerned. Anyway, when we began to grow closer last term, we just sort of carried on the way we had been, doing things together like before -- only it _wasn't_ like before, you know? Blimey, it's kinda hard to explain."  
  
Cho was doing her best to suppress very polite laughter, thoroughly enjoying the pink tinge spreading over Ron's ears.  
  
"So, then," Ron said. "You, uh...want to go? It, uh, won't be much." The crimson glow suffusing Ron's ears was now spreading across his face. His hands sought refuge in his pockets -- pockets which were empty of anything save those hands. "I don't...that is..."  
  
"Oh, my!" Cho exclaimed, her eyes going wide. "I nearly forgot!" Seeing Ron's hands dip into his robes, Cho suddenly remembered something weighing heavily in a pocket of _her_ robes. She extracted a small pouch and pushed it toward Ron. "Your winnings," she said brightly, forcing the pouch, from which a muted clinking sounded, into Ron's hands.  
  
"My what?" Ron said, feeling the weight of the small pouch and striving instinctively to fathom its worth through his surprise and confusion.  
  
"I made a bet with a group of Slytherin girls," Cho said. "With Harry out of the match, they were certain that Slytherin couldn't lose. I got fantastic odds."  
  
"And they paid off?" Ron said with even greater surprise.  
  
"Professor Flitwick held the wager," Cho said. "He's head of Ravenclaw, you know -- and between you and me, he's quite the gambler himself. I understand he's treating the entire staff on _his_ winnings."  
  
"But," Ron said dazedly, "this is _yours_. _I_ didn't bet any money."  
  
"But _you_ caught the _Snitch_!" Cho said animatedly. "Without you, I wouldn't have won at all! So half of it is yours -- and I won't take no for an answer. You may not know it, but I helped Cedric prepare for his tasks in the Triwizard Tournament. I learned a _lot_ of good hexes preparing him for the third task, and I'm not afraid to use them!"  
  
Ron could not imagine the level of courage required for Cho to reference Cedric in this way while displaying no discernable trace of sorrow (though surely she still had enough of that and to spare). She'd have made a good Gryffindor, he mused. As he fumbled with the pouch's drawstring uncertainly, he said, "You still haven't answered my question."  
  
"That's because I'm still waiting for YOU to _ask_ properly," Cho replied teasingly.  
  
Emboldened by the weight of the gold in his hand -- and the gratification of his role in its winning -- Ron stood up straight and said crisply, "Cho, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this afternoon?"  
  
"I'd love to," Cho said in a soft voice in which Ron could detect no trace of condescension.  
  
"Right," Ron said cheerfully. He looked at his watch. "Shall we meet in the Entrance Hall? Say, twelve-thirty?"  
  
"Smashing," Cho smiled.  
  
  


***

  
  
**Author's Note:** Just one more chapter to go. Follow Ron up to Gryffindor Tower where the remaining loose ends are tied up. Try not to be late. Remember, if you don't go in with Ron, the Fat Lady won't let you in without the password. (And if you meet Neville in the corridor, don't count on HIM to tell you.) 


	6. Reflections

**Author's Note:** Occamy and the hermit get the grateful nod this time. Now, let's wrap things up, shall we?  
  
  


***

  
  
Ron left Cho in the Great Hall and went straight up to Gryffindor Tower. He found the common room packed with students, most of them still exuberating over Gryffindor's spectacular victory of yesterday and talking animatedly of how they planned to celebrate the double triumph of being Quidditch Champions _and_ House Champions. It had been a long time since the school had seen a celebration of any kind. Last year's Leaving Feast had been a somber affair as nearly everyone (certain Slytherins excepted) mourned the death of Cedric Diggory. Hogsmeade was preparing for a full-scale invasion today, and it would be a rare student Third Year or above who would be found anywhere near the castle an hour from now.  
  
Through the confusion of excited voices, Ron heard his name mentioned any number of times. It was a unique experience for him, and though he was enjoying all the attention, as anyone would under like circumstances, he began to understand for the first time how Harry must feel nearly every day, being the center of attention wherever he went. Ron had every intention of enjoying his 'moment in the sun' while it lasted. But by tomorrow, he was certain, he would just as gratefully go back to being plain Ron "nobody" Weasley again. He had never owned a goldfish, but he thought he had some idea now of what it was like to be trapped in a tiny glass bowl with no way out. After today, he hoped that bowl of his newfound celebrity would shatter and release him to swim free and unfettered again.  
  
Through the repeated murmuring of his name, he discerned that one such invocation was louder and sharper than the rest. Was someone calling to him? Yes. A quick scan of the crowded room -- made possible by his tall stature, which allowed him to see over the heads of most of the students -- revealed two stuffed chairs standing near the entrance to the boys' dormitories; it was from here that the address was coming, punctuated by a pair of waving arms.   
  
"Oi, Ron!" Fred called out. "Over here!"  
  
Squeezing through the crowd, Ron found the two chairs in question to be occupied by four people. In the chair nearest the doorway sat Fred, with George perched on the arm like a grinning vulture. Harry and Hermione sat together in the other chair, squeezed in so snugly, Ron reflected, that they could have worn the same set of robes.  
  
"Ron!" Harry called out, waving the arm that was not wrapped securely around Hermione's shoulders. "Give it up, mate! You coming with us or not?"  
  
"Sorry, Harry," Ron said, his easy smile taking in both Harry and Hermione. The surprised look that exploded across Harry's face indicated all too clearly that this was not the answer he had expected.   
  
"What? You're joking! You _can't_ miss the biggest bash of the year! Blimey, it's down to _you_ that we're celebrating at _all_!"  
  
"Oh, I'll be there," Ron returned, his smile morphing into a knowing grin. "We'll probably run into each other before too long."  
  
"Oh, come on, Ron," Fred said. "This is your moment to shine! You don't want to spend it by yourself, do you?"   
  
"Don't worry," Ron said through a grin now almost obscenely wide. "I won't be alone."  
  
"Bloody hell!" George exclaimed, noting the pink tinge beginning to burn his younger brother's ears. "He's taking a bird! Who is it? Lavender? No, she's going with Seamus, isn't she? I know -- Padma! Changed her mind about you after yesterday, hasn't she?"  
  
"Nope," Ron said, thoroughly enjoying his brothers' bewilderment. He cast a brief glance at Harry, whose own eyes suddenly went round as those of a house-elf.  
  
"You don't mean it! Cho?"  
  
"What?" Fred said, accidentally elbowing George to the floor in his excitement. "Cho Chang?"  
  
"You're never!" George said as he picked himself up off the floor and re-perched himself on the chair arm. "You and Cho?" He snorted, the sound echoed by Fred a moment later. Instantly Hermione scowled at both twins.  
  
"And why _shouldn't_ Cho want to go with Ron?" she said defensively. "She's lucky to have him, I say."  
  
"Oh, don't get us wrong, luv," Fred said, his own defenses rising in the face of Hermione's wrath. "He's our brother and all, but I mean, come on! What's a ripping bird like Cho want with -- with -- " He waved his hand dismissively at Ron as if to imply that his very presence was all the validation needed to settle the matter.  
  
"That's horrid!" Hermione said, turning a scathing eye on Fred with more than enough acrimony to encompass George as well.  
  
The explosive potential of the situation was promptly defused by Ron, who laughed as he stepped before Harry and Hermione.  
  
"Come on, mate," he said to Harry. "Let's go up and change. Dress robes, d'you reckon? Gotta look our best for the two loveliest girls at Hogwarts."  
  
Before Harry could say a word, Ron took Hermione's wrists and pulled her up and out of the chair. She was squeezed in so tightly against Harry that she sprang up as if shot from a catapult. Her arms flew around Ron, and she used the opportunity to give him a fierce hug.  
  
"I knew you could do it, Ron," she breathed into his ear as her feet dangled above the common room floor.  
  
"Thanks," he said, clinging to his one-time girlfriend for a long moment.   
  
"Careful there, hero," Harry laughed. "You may have won us the House Championship, but Hermione is _not_ one of the prizes!"   
  
Ron lowered Hermione to the floor, whereupon Harry quickly swept her into his arms. As she settled into Harry's embrace, Hermione looked over her shoulder and lanced his brilliant emerald eyes with her deep coffee-colored ones.  
  
"And don't _come_ the big-head, Mr. Boy-Who-Lived," she smirked wickedly. "We all learned yesterday that Gryffindor can win quite handily _without_ its superstar Seeker, didn't we? And _off_ the field, you'd do well to remember that you were _my second_ choice! I threw off a good man for you, scar-head, so you watch your step, you hear? It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind. Am I getting through to you, Potterrrr?" she added in a serpentine hiss that was eerily familiar to everyone present.  
  
"Yes, Madam Snape," Harry said with a click of his heels. As Fred, George and Ron laughed, Harry spun Hermione around and smothered her smirking lips with a kiss that soon had her purring like Crookshanks. When the two of them opened their eyes, their expressions were identical mirrors of dazed contentment.  
  
"Blimey, you two," Ron said, jerking Harry by the collar of his robes. "Save it for the broom cupboard."  
  
With Fred's and George's laughter ringing in their ears, the four boys mounted the stairs to their respective dormitories, leaving Hermione the unenviable task of fighting her way across the swarming common room to her own staircase. Giving Ron a final thumbs-up, the twins took the branch leading to the Seventh Year dorm as Harry and Ron made their way to their familiar Fifth Year quarters.  
  
An odd silence descended as Harry and Ron opened their trunks to pull out their dress robes. Dean, Seamus and Neville had already departed, and the two friends, as they had so often in the past, fell into a comfortable sort of non-verbal communication which transcended words. It was Harry who finally broke the silence, in a casual manner that barely registered on Ron as he fumblingly drew his dress robes over his head.  
  
"I don't envy you, Ron," Harry said cryptically before he finished pulling his own robes over his head, rendering his already messy hair a near-total disaster.  
  
"Hmm?" Ron said distractedly as he tugged at the shoulders of his robes, which always seemed to bunch up at the most inopportune times. "Why's that?"  
  
"Cho," Harry said.  
  
"What about her?" Ron said as he walked over to the full-length mirror on the opposite side of the room and began to comb his hair with his fingers. ("I _do_ wish you'd use a comb, dear," the mirror said, not for the first time.)  
  
"She's still not over Cedric," Harry said as he joined Ron in front of the mirror, which let out a gasp of dismay at sight of Harry's disheveled hair. "We haven't talked for a while, she and I. But I only have to look at her to know. All the time we spent together last term -- well, there were times when she couldn't talk about -- things -- you know? So I learned to 'hear' what she _wasn't_ saying."  
  
"You're right," Ron said as he conjured a comb from nowhere, eliciting a sigh of relief from the mirror. "We've been talking a bit ourselves. I don't reckon she'll ever get over him completely."  
  
Harry suspected that Ron's last statement held a deeper meaning -- one entirely unrelated to Cho -- but he said nothing as he took the comb from Ron's extended hand and began the hopeless task of attempting to tame his unruly hair.   
  
"The thing is," Harry said, "you passed on joining Hermione and me because you didn't want to be part of a threesome. But it looks like you've just traded one threesome for another. Instead of you, me and Hermione, it's you, Cho -- and Cedric."  
  
Ron went very quiet for a few moments, during which interval Harry made every effort to concentrate solely on his image in the mirror. But the image of Ron was standing right next to his, and it was impossible to focus on the one to the exclusion of the other.  
  
"You and I don't have any secrets from each other, do we, Harry?" Ron said very quietly.  
  
"Not that I'm aware of," Harry said as he shrugged in defeat and dispatched the conjured comb with a wave of his hand.  
  
"Then I probably don't have to tell you," Ron said, "that it won't be a threesome so much as a foursome. Me, Cho, Cedric -- and Hermione."  
  
There being no appropriate reply to this, Harry merely nodded.  
  
"There are all kinds of ghosts," Ron said with a wisdom seemingly unsuited to its source. "Given time, most can be exorcised. But invariably, some take longer than others."  
  
"Tell me about it," Harry said, surprising Ron with his growing smile. "If I didn't love Hermione so much, I'd feel a right rotter for being with her under present circumstances. You want to talk about ghosts? Blimey, mate, if I have to listen to Hermione compare me to you one more time -- "   
  
Ron couldn't believe his ears. Hermione comparing Harry to _him_?  
  
"Get off," Ron said with a smile of his own. "It was _always_ you, mate. I _know_. I was _there_, remember?"  
  
"Maybe so," Harry said, his smile now reflecting a profound gratification. "But that doesn't make _your_ 'ghost' any less tangible. You heard her downstairs. If I hear many more choruses of _that_ song, Merlin help me, I'm seriously considering a Memory Charm."  
  
"Ah, she was just havin' you on," Ron laughed. "Doesn't want you to take her for granted, does she?"  
  
"As if I ever could," Harry smiled warmly. "But even if I spend the rest of my life with Hermione," he said in a voice brimming with a hope and longing he made no effort to disguise, "it won't change the fact that you were _first_ to see how unique and special Hermione is, and always has been. And when we both have beards longer than Dumbledore's, I'll _still_ remember that _you_ were _first_ -- and _I_ was _second_."  
  
"Not _just_ 'second', " Ron said, recalling his morning chat with Cho under the trees beyond Hagrid's cabin. "Second _best_. With the accent on _best_."  
  
"How the heck did _you_ get so smart all of a sudden?" Harry grinned.  
  
"Guess," Ron said with an even wider grin.  
  
"I _am_ going to place a Memory Charm on Hermione," Harry chuckled.  
  
"Won't work," Ron said with a regal toss of his head and an insolent tug on the collar of his dress robes. "I'm unforgettable."  
  
"Insufferable, more like," Harry laughed out loud. "A right pain in the arse, you are. Bloody hopeless. But -- " he added earnestly, " -- you're still the best mate a bloke ever had."  
  
"Second best," Ron said with equal seriousness. "You've got first place all locked up. But that's okay. Way I reckon it, being second to Harry Potter beats coming in first in front of anyone else.  
  
"So, Harry," Ron said suddenly as his blue eyes narrowed slyly. "Tell me -- is Cho a good kisser?"  
  
Harry abruptly adopted a sheepish expression. "Dunno. Never kissed her. Things never -- well, they never got that far with us."  
  
"Pity, that," Ron said. "I was hoping we could compare notes."  
  
Harry stepped back so quickly that he nearly fell over Dean's trunk.  
"Are you telling me that _you_ -- "  
  
"Blimey, look at the time," Ron said, his brow furrowing as he looked at his watch. "Told Cho I'd meet her in the Entrance Hall at twelve-thirty."  
  
Harry stood flat-footed and open-mouthed as Ron swept toward the doorway. Ron disappeared, only to reappear a moment later, sporting a grin so wide that he could have swallowed his wand sideways.   
  
"Meet you at the Three Broomsticks for butterbeers," Ron said. He slapped his pocket, resulting in an unmistakable clink of coins that echoed from the stairwell. "First round's on me." And with a swish of his elegant dress robes, he was gone.  
  
"Hadn't you better get along, too, dear?" came a voice from behind Harry. He turned to face the dormitory's enchanted mirror, his brow creasing beneath his still untamed hair.  
  
"Mirror," Harry said slowly, eyeing the worn edges and chipped paint of the mirror's frame, "you've been around a while, right? You've seen a lot of things?"  
  
"Ah, the stories I could tell," the mirror said importantly. "I was in the staff room for ages before they bought a new mirror -- " this last with a sniff of disapproval, " -- and moved me up here."  
  
"Know any good Memory Charms?" Harry asked. "Good, strong, unbreakable ones?"  
  
"Sorry," the mirror said. "Very little magic done in the staff room, don't you know. Now, if you want to know about the teachers -- I can tell you things about Professor Snape that will make your hair stand on end -- ahem -- more than it already is, that is to say," she added cattily. "Why not ask Professor Flitwick? More up his street, isn't it?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry said distractedly. "Thanks." In some dim corner of his thoughts, Harry perceived that the mirror was still speaking, more to itself than to him, it seemed.  
  
"I don't know why they bought that new mirror. Totally unnecessary, in my opinion. After all, it's not like I wasn't up to scratch, is it? But no, one day Hagrid comes in with a brand new mirror, and suddenly I'm not good enough, am I?" The mirror huffed indignantly before heaving a weary sigh. "But you wouldn't know about such things, would you, dear? You're Harry Potter, after all. Best at everything, aren't you? Won the Triwizard Tournament last year, didn't you? Even You-Know-Who couldn't kill you, could he? What would _you_ know about being second best?"  
  
"You'd be surprised," Harry said with a ghostly smile and an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He placed his left hand on the inside of his right arm, touching the place where he knew was the thin scar that would forever remind him of that terrible, unforgettable night in the cemetery in Little Hangleton. "You'd be surprised."  
  
And he turned, his bottle-green dress robes flashing, and disappeared down the spiral staircase.  
  
  


***

  
  
**Author's Note:** Thanks to all who reviewed any of the 6 chapters, and I hope everyone had a good time. Tune in Monday (fingers crossed) for my remaining Fifth Year fic, Signs. See you then. 


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